


The Bands of Love

by Cambetaut



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Thorin's POV, soul marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cambetaut/pseuds/Cambetaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When dwarves find their one, a band appears on their arm, a marking that will be with them forever. Thorin doesn't expect such a thing to happen to him when he enters the home of Bilbo Baggins, but it does, and he finds out just how difficult a journey to reclaim a lost kingdom can be while dealing with newfound feelings. </p><p>*currently on hiatus (sorry)*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Banding

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love fics with the whole love markings kind of whatever thing (I have no idea what it's properly called). Anyway, I'm just happy I finally came up with my own. 
> 
> Later on there will probably be some smut, ergo the rating, but we'll get to that. 
> 
> I hope to crank this out and have it done in like a week, but that's improbable and unlikely, so there's a good chance this will sit abandoned while I try to finish school. 
> 
> And I have to write this on my phone, so there may be a bunch of autocorrections that don't make much sense, but I try to read over everything at least twice before I post it. But anyway, sorry in advance.

Thorin retreated to the bathroom the first chance he got. His right arm was on fire, but it was a feeling different than he had ever felt before. When the door was securely shut behind him he quickly stripped his many layers so he could look at his bicep. There was a band of red around the muscle, like something had been constantly scratching at the skin, as if in irritation, but he knew for a fact nothing had been. It almost felt as if a cold band was secured to his arm, surely there was something on him that was causing this reaction, but as he traced his fingers over the skin cold realization dawned. 

He had found his one. He nearly scoffed at the idea when it first entered his mind, but he couldn't ignore the cold truth in front of him. He thought for a moment, wracking his brain for who he had met recently, but he knew deep down who it was, the answer was practically being screamed at him. He had known everybody else present in the smial before that day, which meant his one was none other than a short, round, hairy footed hobbit. He couldn't help but think that Mahal was punishing him for some past wrong, he was a dwarf. A dwarf prince, to be exact, the future king of Erebor for god's sake, and his one was a hobbit who knew nothing of the world?

He rubbed a hand over his face, in exasperation. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe he was having a belated reaction to another, surely that was it, hell, maybe it was just the wizard playing a horrid trick in him. Well, he had only one way to find out. His skin only needed to briefly make contact with the hobbit's, and then he would know for sure, as the band on his arm would change. He had heard before of dwarrow who grew up together having to be separated for some time before their band would show, maybe his one was Dwalin? The theory had many flaws though, as they had been separated and reunited many times throughout their exile, and he surely would have known by now if his shield brother was his soul mate. 

Thorin quickly threw back on his clothes and stormed out of the small room, intent on finding the hobbit. It would be easy to touch his bare skin, as much of it was exposed by hobbit's style of clothing, but they had to make contact for a few seconds at least, or it might take weeks of simple touches for the dwarf to know for sure. 

When he found Bilbo, the hobbit had taken up residence in his chair at the head of the table, engaged in a conversation with the wizard beside him. The dwarf lingered in the doorway, thinking of how he could nonchalantly touch the man when Gandalf interrupted his train of thought by addressing him and holding out a map and key. Thorin snatched them from the long fingers and studied the map, his mouth dropping open in surprise before he could catch himself. 

"Where did you get this?" His tone was low as he questioned the man. 

"It was given to me by your father," Gandalf stated as if it should have been common knowledge. 

"Why did it not come to me right away?" The dwarf glared at the wizard before casting his gaze again to the map. 

"I have chosen my own time to give it."

Thorin grumbled under his breath about meddlesome wizards and moved toward the table, standing in between Bilbo and Gandalf to lay the map out for better examination. Despite his anger at the wizard for keeping it from him and his incredulity that such a thing should even exist, he had not forgotten his newest problem. He braced his left hand on the table and the other on the shoulder of Bilbo, who was hunched over the map and seemed not to notice. One of his fingers met with the soft skin of the man's neck while the rest were barred by cloth. 

Sound and movement stopped, it was just Thorin, feeling the skin of the hobbit beneath his touch, which seemed to sear his fingertip, but he couldn't make himself move; it was as if the touch froze him in place and time along with him. The feeling spread up his arm like tendrils, crawling up in curving patterns that crisscrossed his skin until they reached the band, which felt as if the hottest fire and coldest ice where mixing together. The energy seemed to spiral around his bicep, twirling round and round as fire chased ice and ice chased fire, his skin so excruciatingly sensitive that the cloth against it was like a thousand needles pricking him at once. A shiver raced down his spine, taking with it all the unnatural feelings and thrusting him back into reality; smells, sights, and sounds assaulting him all at once. He looked around at the other dwarves, who seemed more focused on the map than what had just happened to the leader of their company. He was grateful none had noticed, but he completely missed the knowing gaze of the wizard upon him. 

He gently retracted his hand from Bilbo's shoulder, making a fist when his arm was hidden at his side to check that it was still usable. Balin was saying something to the hobbit about a contract, but Thorin wasn't paying attention, too focused on the thoughts rushing through him and the halfling beside him. He watched Bilbo take the paper and go into the hallway to read it privately, the soft features of his face growing paler as he read further. The hobbit was facing the room full of men, babbling about something before he fell to the ground in a faint. A fierce protectiveness swelled in Thorin, and he wanted to rush to Bilbo's side to check that he was alright, but he pushed the urge aside and instead fled to the bathroom in the ensuing commotion to check on the small man. 

He stripped his layers, as before, when the door was locked behind him. He turned to the side to get a better look at his upper arm in the mirror, and his suspicions were confirmed. The red was fading and taking on color right before him, a dark ink that matched his hair lacing a pattern at the top and bottom, making it look like a band truly was upon his arm. He could feel the swirl of colors racing along his skin like a cool breath of winter, as if snowflakes were responsible for the color that would mark him forever. Letters were being etched in the middle, and he knew the name they would spell out, but this part seemed to be appearing in dual lines of silver and gold, and it was really a beautiful thing. He watched with awe as it appeared before him, lines swirling in patterns right before his eyes, as if he was being tattooed by magic, which really, he supposed he was. The ink slowed, and finally stopped, the lines all broadening and darkening, as if to seal their placement into his very bones, before they all took on their original color and size, as they would remain until his death. 

He lightly traced his fingers over it, as if the slightest touch would smear the markings. The skin was slightly raised over the strands of color, and he marveled at the feeling. He cursed the secrecy of dwarves in that moment, wishing something could have prepared him for the events that had just taken place, but it was forbidden to talk about the banding and especially to touch the band of another; these things were for a dwarf and their one, something that only the two could share. He idly wondered if it had been the same for other dwarves, but he would never know. 

At that thought another came unbidden into his mind, and he wondered if hobbits experienced the same thing, if Bilbo had experienced anything, but he knew little of hobbits and their ways. He thought about just asking the hobbit, but fears crept into his mind. What if hobbits didn't have a one? What if Bilbo held his heart but the halfling would never love him in return? So many what ifs ran through his head, and try as he might, they would not go away. He would fall hopelessly in love in a matter of weeks, if not days; it was common knowledge that after the banding a dwarf would fall head over heels for their one. 

Of course his one was a hobbit, it was plain as day shining back at him in the mirror. He would be in love with Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, forever, and there was nothing in the world that could stop it. The future king of Erebor was falling in love with a simplistic hobbit who had never experienced the world and had no skill with weapons or anything practical. Thorin carded a hand through his hair, thinking of what a long journey was indeed ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your comments, I thoroughly enjoy them.


	2. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin does a lot of thinking; mostly remembering and pitting his mind against his heart.

Thorin stared at the road ahead despairingly, with every step his pony took away from the Shire his heart grew heavier in his chest, and it felt as if he would never be whole again. He had barely known the hobbit for more than half a day, and yet he already felt this way? Surely the world wouldn't end if he never saw the hobbit again, and besides, it was better for Bilbo to stay far away from the dwarves and their problems, it would keep him safer, and maybe Thorin's heart as well, but at that point it seemed to the dwarf that he would die if he never saw his one again. 

He considered turning back, galloping from the forest they were traversing to the quaint little hobbit hole and dragging Bilbo along with him, if only so his heart would stop it's annoying aching, but he decided against it. It would accomplish nothing, and worse yet he would have to explain himself to the others, which he certainly didn't want to do. He thought for a moment what they would think if he told them. What would Dwalin say if he decided to confide in his friend? Would he laugh at the absurdity of Thorin's situation, or would he think him not fit to be a king? Thorin couldn't, for the life of him remember a single dwarven king that had occupied the throne with someone from another race at his side. He couldn't even remember knowing a common dwarf who's one was of another race; it was a rare occurrence, most likely stemming from the secrecy of dwarves and their scant dealings with others. He ran a hand up through his hair in exasperation, asking himself why nothing in his life could ever be easy. He looked back at the road behind him longingly before he snapped his head forward again; he was acting more like a lovesick puppy than a dwarven prince, and he wasn't even in love yet, he was only feeling his heart's protest at being separated from what could very soon be the object of its affection. 

Thorin let his thoughts drift back to the night before; there was no need to watch the road when the pony knew to follow it and Gandalf was leading the way. He had come out of the bathroom to find that in his absence the hobbit was roused, given a warm cup of tea, and set in one of his armchairs in front of a fire, currently telling the wizard that he couldn't possibly help them. Thorin had been angry at first, to hear that aid to his quest had once again been denied, by a simple hobbit no less, but the anger was quickly replaced by sorrow. To him it seemed their quest was doomed to fail, that he was doomed himself; he had remembered then how helpless he had been when the dragon attacked, the destruction and death it had caused, all while they were refused aid from their 'allies.' He couldn't help himself as the words tumbled out of his lips while he was staring into a hearth with his pipe in hand, it just felt so right in that moment, to sing the song of his people, of their struggles, from the past and those certain to come. When the other voices joined in with him he felt overwhelmed by raw emotion; it seemed to bleed from their words onto the floor, where the wood soaked it up, making the house seem to pulse with it. They had all settled down to sleep shortly after, and Thorin couldn't help but run his fingers over his arm as he drifted off to sleep. 

He was startled out of his reverie by shouting in the distance. It was hard to make out the words over the clop of hooves, but it seemed closer by the next yell, as if someone were running towards them. His heart started to feel lighter in his chest, as if all the disparity he had felt that morning was finally receding, giving way to hope, and he wasn't sure what was causing the sudden change. A few seconds later there came another shout, and Gandalf pulled his horse to a halt, effectively stopping the rest of the company. 

"Wait!" 

Thorin was struck by disbelief; it couldn't possibly have been the hobbit, but it was, and he was running towards them, yelling for them to stop, the contract trailing behind him comically. The dwarf's heart surged with relief at the sight of the halfling, and he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He felt an urge to jump off his horse and embrace Bilbo, but instead gripped the reins in his hands until his knuckles were white and the leather groaned beneath his grip.

Bilbo ran up to Balin, presenting him with the paper. The hazel eyes of the hobbit flicked to the front of the company while the old dwarf examined the contract, first looking at Gandalf, then Thorin, before he quickly cast his gaze to the ground, shuffling a foot in the dirt. The dwarf could have laughed at his behavior, but stifled it, instead noting to himself how cute Bilbo looked while he was nervous. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the thought; the hobbit was no more than a nuisance, a weak and inexperienced child, certainly not cute by any stretch of the imagination. 

Balin nodded to Bilbo and put the contract in his bag, and the company started off once more. Thorin yelled back to give the halfling a pony, and smiled to himself at the startled yelp he gave out as Fili and Kili lifted him onto one. 

As they continued down the road he felt another surge of emotion go through him as a thought entered his mind; Bilbo would now be in danger. A man who knew nothing of fighting or pain would be subject to both, and Thorin would have to watch over him. The fear came out of nowhere, catching his breath in his throat and almost making him cough. No, he wasn't going to get all emotional over it, and the life of one halfling was expendable, even if the loss would hurt Thorin. He knew well the haunted look of dwarrow who had lost their one; it was as if a part of them had been lost as well, and many went mad or died as a result. 

His sister had not taken the loss of her one as bad as others, but she had to cope with the loss of her husband while her children were very young, so she pushed aside her grief to take care of them. Thorin remembered the few times when Dis gave in to her sorrow and locked herself in her room, leaving Thorin to take care of Fili and Kili, but it had only happened a handful of times. She handled it better than most would have, given the situation, but sometimes he could clearly see it in her eyes, the sadness that threatened to swallow her whole before she covered it up with a smile and laughter, but it was still there behind her cover all the same. He wondered how different it would have been without her children, if she would have given up on herself and let the weight of it consume her, but he was glad he wouldn't ever have to know. 

Thorin stole a glance back to where Gandalf was talking with the hobbit, and he thought of what would happen to him if Bilbo were to die now, before he harbored any real feelings. Maybe if he could find a way to put distance between them he could ward off the feelings, for a little longer at least, but even if the halfling would die after Thorin had developed feelings for him, the dwarf was sure he could stand it; he had suffered the loss of his home and his kin, he could suffer a broken heart. 

Suddenly, Bilbo yelled for them to stop, pulling Thorin from his thoughts for the second time that day. They halted, causing many of the horses to paw at the ground in irritation while the men all eyed the burglar curiously. 

"We have to turn back! I've forgotten my pocket handkerchief," he was furiously patting at his pockets, making sure there wasn't one hiding within them. 

"You'll have to manage without handkerchiefs and many other things while on our journey, Master Baggins. Move on!" Thorin stated before turning his horse and continuing along the road. 

He heard the dwarves all laugh at something, but didn't bother turning around to see what it was, he was trying to think of how to keep from falling in love.


	3. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin does more thinking, surprise surprise.

Thorin stared at Bilbo from across the fire, watching as the burglar awkwardly engaged in a conversation with his nephews. The hobbit didn't seem so sure of himself in their company, and seemed to be actively avoiding Thorin's gaze. The prince tried to look away, but he found it easier to think while his eyes were resting on the man's soft form. He had been trying to think up ways to keep from falling in love since the halfling had joined them, but he still hasn't come up with anything that could even possibly work.

He had considered abandoning Bilbo so he would have no choice but to go back home, but the wizard would surely never let that happen. Another idea was to confess his undying love to the hobbit in the hopes that it would scare him away, but that was too close to becoming true, and he didn't fancy putting himself out there just to be denied, even if it was the entire point. Every idea seemed almost worse than the next, and none of them had even the slightest chance of being successful. 

Thorin huffed to himself and crossed his arms over his chest, looking to the mountains in the distance. He knew he had to think of something soon, or he really would be in love, which he wasn't looking forward to. He had avoided the emotion for the most part, letting very few people into his life or heart. The only love he had ever experienced was directed at his family, and most of that seemed to come back to bite him. He had certainly loved his father and his grandfather, but it had nearly killed him to watch the death of one and suffer the unknowns of the other's disappearance. He had found out the hard way that it was just easier not to give out his heart, it hurt less, but all the barriers had been laid down when he saw his nephews for the first time; held their tiny bodies in his arms after their births. He had tried to keep from caring for his sister too much after the tragedies that had befallen their family, afraid that she would meet her end like the rest, but he couldn't help but care when he learned of her first pregnancy. They became much closer, and after the untimely demise of her husband before Kili's birth he had taken on the responsibility of providing for his sister and her sons. He had known it might only end up hurting him again to love anyone; but he did, and they were the only people he let himself care for. 

He let his gaze wander to where his nephews were sitting on either side of his one, and he felt the emotion flood his chest. He would give up his life if it meant saving them, and he would do anything to keep their loss from his sister; he wasn't sure she could live through it. Thorin hated that the two had insisted on coming along; he felt they should have stayed where they were safe and not needlessly put themselves in harm's way, but they had begged their mother, and the three had begged him in turn. How could he have said no and shattered their hopes? The boys were thirsting for adventure and their mother thought it would do them good, but to him it seemed as if none had assessed the risks. 

His eyes wandered from his sister sons to the man in between them, whose face was now alight with laughter at one of their numerous jokes or stories. Before him sat everything he could lose, and it was very possible the journey could cost all three of their lives, although he didn't want to dwell on the thought. He had a hunch if anything did happen to Bilbo it would only be after he loved the man; when it would hurt him the most. 

Before Thorin's eyes the fire that separated him from Fili, Bilbo, and Kili engulfed their smiles and singed their hair, their skin cracked and crumbled before each was nothing more than a pile of dust and charred bones before him. His heart started to twist in his breast at the loss when he heard his sister's cries, and he was in her house, where he watched as she slowly let herself go, dying a slow and lonely death, without a soul to comfort her through the agony of losing her sons. It felt like the weight of the world was on Thorin's heart, and no light pierced the darkness that now surrounded him. He was alone, so alone and broken, his heart barely having the strength to beat in him with the crushing weight of disparity bearing down on it. He had lost his nephews, his sister, and his one, to fire and grief; it was all his fault, deep down he knew it could only have been his fault. There was nothing in the world that could bring him happiness anymore, there were no more smiles or ensuing laughter, only the death and destruction that seemed to follow him, as if he was its harbinger. 

The despair and sorrow lifted, his vision wasn't filled with darkness, but the light of the campfire, which danced shadows over the faces across from him. They were alive and well, all three of them; he had only let his mind wander too far, let it be consumed by a horrific daydream of his innermost fears. He watched as the three laughed together, and their smiles chased away his unpleasant thoughts. He had been exposed to the tragedies of life, but Bilbo, Fili, and Kili had not, they were untouched by its horrors. There was some good in his life, and he would spend his dying breath fighting to keep it safe. 

The thought made him wonder if he really would give his life for the hobbit if it came to it. The beginnings of protectiveness and care swirled through him at each look directed in the smaller man's direction, and it concerned the prince. He shouldn't feel that way about someone he barely knew, he shouldn't care at all, for that matter. He had even told Gandalf that he couldn't guarantee Bilbo's safety, and he wouldn't make it his goal to ensure it either, no matter how he felt. The journey was about reclaiming Erebor, not babysitting a useless hobbit along the way. 

He did have to admit though, he found something about the halfling attractive, although exactly what it was eluded him. Thorin's eyes wandered down his form slowly, taking in every curve and even the hair on his feet before slowly taking back up, to find the hazel eyes looking at him. They locked gazes, and each passing second seeming to draw the color from Bilbo's face until he was a ghostly pale and quickly averted his eyes, seeming to prefer something on the ground in front of him. 

"I think you scared the burglar," Dwalin whispered to his right, the words low so the rest of the camp wouldn't hear. 

"How?" Thorin wondered aloud. 

"Well you were glarin' at him," the dwarf chuckled beside him. 

At Dwalin's words the idea came to Thorin, clear as day and already with proof to show him it would work. He berated himself for not thinking of it earlier, but it didn't much matter, he had at least come up with a suitable way to keep distance between him and his one; he would convince the hobbit he hated him. Apparently his lingering looks at Bilbo were already considered glares, so anytime he found himself glancing at the hobbit out of care or desire it would be misconstrued as hatred, he need only say rude things to Bilbo to ensure there was mistrust between them. He had a passing thought that by keeping distance between them he could keep his one safe, but he shook the thought, instead hoping that his new plan might slow the progression of his feelings. 

When Thorin settled down to sleep he found his mind not plagued by horrific scenes, but instead filled with the hobbit. He tried to clear his mind, to think of a blank space and build a wall around himself to keep Bilbo out, but it was no use, so he gave up and let himself drift off to thoughts of brown curls and hushed endearments, and he knew some small part of him was falling, probably already harbored care for the small man, and he couldn't seem to hate himself for it, not in that moment.


	4. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some interaction, which I suppose is long overdue, and just a tiny bit of thinking.

The rain came down on them in sheets, a constant companion since the beginning of the day, and it seemed it had no intention of letting up by nightfall, much to his disappointment. Thorin was at the head of the company, trying to peer ahead through the rain, but he found it difficult to see even remotely far ahead, so instead cast his gaze to the road and observed the puddles as he passed by them. Many times he suppressed the urge to look back and check on his halfling, there was an ever present need in him to ensure Bilbo's safety, even though he knew the hobbit was indeed perfectly fine, if not miserable at being wet. 

He had not forgotten his plan to make the hobbit believe Thorin hated him, but he had not had a chance as of yet. He hoped the opportunity would soon arise, as he had come up with the idea two nights ago, but they did have the entire journey ahead of them to brew mistrust. No, that was entirely wrong, Thorin only had as long as his heart would allow, which he knew realistically wouldn't be the entire journey, it would be soon, much too soon. With his luck it might be in the next few days, and he wasn't sure if he could handle it. 

He could feel it already, the change within him; that swell of feeling that built in his chest each time he thought of the hobbit, and he hated it. He didn't want to let the halfling past the thick walls he had built to protect his heart, but each smile he glimpsed seemed to crush another brick, each laugh turned the mortar to dust; slowly Bilbo seemed to be wedging himself into a place where he wasn't wanted. 

A few of the horses began whinnying towards the middle of the group, and a yelp was accompanied by a splash. Thorin pulled his horse to a stop to look back in exasperation. He saw the hobbit sitting in a puddle, an altogether sour look on his face. His pony, which had just thrown him for the fourth time that day, was already held by Nori, who must have tried to calm the mare down before Bilbo had landed on the ground again, but the animal had very obviously won, unless the halfling enjoyed falling into the mud on the road. 

"Fili, Kili, go see if you can find someplace dry to camp for the night," Thorin ordered, and the boys took off, eager to be out of the rain and done traveling for the day. 

He watched as Bilbo stood slowly, brushing at his arse, as if that could really get the mud off. It was easy to see his spirits had been dampened, much like every other man's had when they realized they would be wet and miserable for the entirety of the day. Thorin had considered offering the hobbit his coat when it had started raining, but he had to remind himself not to show affection towards his one, even though his heart screamed for him to accept the obvious and give in. He would rather suffer through the ache to be near Bilbo than surrender himself to the emotions that would change everything and make him more vulnerable. 

Before the halfling could even try to get back on his horse Kili and Fili had returned, satisfied grins on both faces. They lead the rest of the company to the spot they had found. Everyone followed in silence, and despite the tangible relief at being dry and stopping to rest, the procession was still slow. 

The spot the boys had found was under a group of tightly knit trees, and miraculously it seemed as if barely a drop could escape down through the canopy. In the middle of a forest it was likely the best they would find, but after a day in the pouring rain it was a blessing. 

Thorin began shouting out orders as soon as his boots hit the ground, and waited until the men were rushing around before he approached Bilbo. A ball of nervousness knotted itself in the prince's stomach, and he wasn't sure if it was such a good idea after all. He hadn't talked much to the halfling so far, and he had been avoiding it at all costs, because even hearing his voice was disconcerting. It seemed to soothe him, like no other ever had, and it scared him that he found a voice that shouldn't have even been familiar to be such a comfort. When Bilbo spoke it made him want to hear that voice professing love and whispering secrets meant only for his ears. No, he shook his head, he wanted no such thing, he wanted to hurt the hobbit, that was what he was doing, and he wouldn't back down just because his heart was protesting. 

"Master Baggins, if you cannot learn how to stay on your pony you'll have to ride with someone who can," Bilbo looked up at him, his face a painting of drenched misery. 

"It's not my fault! And I know how to ride, thank you very much, I-"

"Well today you proved otherwise, either learn or go home," Thorin turned as quickly as possible and stormed to the other side of the camp. 

It was necessary, he told himself, it had to be done, it was all part of a plan, but yet the words seemed to hurt the dwarf. There was an ache in his chest, and he doubted himself for a moment, wondering how long he could keep denying the inevitable, but he had to at least try. Maybe the pain was just a blessing in disguise; it was something familiar, something he could focus on, and it kept the surging emotions in the back of his mind, for a short while anyway. 

As soon as a fire was lit the men tried to crowd around it to find warmth, but Thorin sat farther away, watching them interact. Even though Bilbo had only been with them for a couple of days he had made friends with many. They all sat close together, laughing and smiling with one another, and it made his chest feel a little hollow. He wanted Bilbo to laugh with him, to smile at him, but he wouldn't allow it, he couldn't. No matter how much his heart wanted it he wouldn't give in, because he was tired of hurting, tired of worrying and caring for others when in the end it was all for naught. 

His right hand reached up to pull the key to the hidden door out of his shirt. He hadn't realized the night Gandalf gave it to him how important it really was; it was more than just a way back into Erebor, it was something of his father. It was the only thing he had of Thrain, and he found himself unconsciously holding often. It wasn't as if the key was something his father had made for him or given him out of love, Thrain hadn't even given it directly to him, but those specifics didn't matter, it was something, when before he had nothing. Thorin liked the weight of it against his bare chest, hung right over his heart, it was an odd sort of comfort. He tried not to let the others see how often he looked at it, but sometimes he needed to hold it, to remember why he was going on the quest in the first place. It wasn't about what he wanted or even the gold and treasures within the mountain; it was for his father, and his grandfather, for his family and every dwarf that had been exiled from their home. He owed it to them to at least try, and he would give his own life if it meant reclaiming what they had lost. The journey was in memory of all those that had died by the dragon's fire or during their exile, and he would not allow them to have died in vain. 

When he looked up from the key in his hand, hazel eyes were watching him, but they weren't filled with hatred or anger like he had hoped, they looked full of concern. He forced himself to look away, but it was a struggle, he wanted to hear reassuring words, he wanted to confide in someone, but he had promised himself he wouldn't. He slipped the key back under his shirt, relishing in the feel of the cool familiar metal against his chest. 

"Why don't you come sit by the fire?" It was just the voice he both did and didn't want to hear, and worst of all it was directed at him. 

"I am fine over here," Thorin's response was gruff and short. 

"You must be cold. Come on, we've made room for you," Bilbo patted an empty space beside him, and the dwarf felt his stomach drop. It looked so inviting, all warm and comfortable beside his one. 

"Oh, we all know you're cold, just come sit," Balin waved him over. 

He knew it was a bad idea, but in truth he was still wet and slightly cold, and the entire company was looking at him, so he couldn't just say no. He slowly stood and stiffly made his way over, sitting in the space beside Bilbo. He was so close to the hobbit that their shoulders were almost touching, he need only lean over the slightest and they would be against each other, and he was painfully aware of it. 

The conversation had started up again, but he was left out, and instead stared into the flames in front of him. Across the fire Dwalin was shooting him a look, but he pointedly ignored it, instead trying not to focus on what Bilbo was saying next to him, but he found it more difficult than he thought. He hadn't been sitting there for more than a few minutes before Bombur finished making the food and the company was passing bowls around, rather than making everyone get up and leave their spots. 

"Here," Thorin looked to his left to see Bilbo holding a bowl out for him, a small smile on his face. 

He tentatively grabbed it from the halfling's hand, and small fingers brushed over his hand. It was like fire lit his veins instantly, making desire pool within him. The hand lingered, for a moment longer than normal, and when Bilbo pulled it away Thorin wanted to reach out to touch him again. He had a growing need to be closer, a need to feel his one against him, and he couldn't help but close the gap between their shoulders. It felt so wonderful to just be against him. It made him want more, made him contemplate wrapping an arm around the small waist or pressing a kiss to those curls, but he stopped himself. 

He didn't want any of that, it was just the effects of the banding. He could feel it now, the circle encasing his bicep was on fire, a delicious fire that begged to be touched by his one. He had to calm himself down, slow the rapid beating of his heart, but it was hard when he could feel the halfling shifting against him, but Bilbo didn't move away, like the dwarf expected, if anything it almost seemed like he was pressing closer, but he knew that was just his imagination. 

Thorin looked down at the bowl in his hands and tried to concentrate on the food, but any hunger he might have been feeling was gone, as if his whole body was more focused on the man beside him. He tried to make himself hate the contact, tried everything he could think of to hate his one. He thought of his previous lovers, trying to tell himself how much better it had to be to bed a dwarf than a hobbit, but he wanted to know what the soft flesh of the burglar felt like under his fingertips; what it would be like to have soft hands unmarred by a long life of hard work running over his body. Ultimately he only wound up making himself hard, although his many layers hid the erection rather well. 

His plan was miserably failing, and instead of putting distance between them he was literally right next to the hobbit, and it was obvious the man had forgiven him for his words from earlier. Bilbo had likely thought the dwarf was only grumpy from being in the rain all day. 

It was obvious he needed to double his efforts, because everything seemed to be working in reverse. He would be more rude, hostile even, towards the hobbit if that was what it took, but he couldn't fall in love. For the time being though, he just sat next to his halfling and enjoyed the feeling of being close to him, resolving to try harder tomorrow and most certainly to avoid any more unnecessary contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rather mixed feelings about the outcome of this chapter, let me know what you think. (I might end up deleting it and trying again, but we'll see) I would be lying if I said it didn't take me three days to write this one. I scrapped a lot of ideas, but here it is, finally, sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> I have a very clear idea of where this is going and when certain things are going to happen, and quite frankly I'm excited to write them, but I promised myself that I'd be productive (in school) before the holidays, so during them you might get a lot of updates, maybe, hopefully. 
> 
> I won't spoil anything good, but if you were wondering Bilbo definitely does have his own sort of band, but that'll be later. I do believe next we come to the trolls, so that'll be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I love you people, so much, you really make my day. I just wanted thank you, for reading this, for the comments and kudos. Even if you hate it, thank you. <3


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